


#untitled#

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i haven't thought of a title yet, so suggestions are more than welcome.</p><p>Frank has a motor bike. And a leather biking suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#untitled#

**Author's Note:**

> totally un-beta'd, so any errors (grammatical or in plot) let me know.
> 
> any medical errors, I don't care anymore. I researched what I could, but since I've never broken a bone and am not a doctor I can't say that it's all correct.

The sky was a bright, intense blue and the air was the kind of crisp that turns your breath to smoke rings and the green leaves into flakes of gold. The sun was shining, and Frank had put his coat on over his usual leather biking suit. It was his proudest possession- it had been his father’s before his, and was midnight black with subtle yellow and green accents, and a cross-eyed and stitch-mouthed symbol on the left side. It had a matching helmet too- a large full-head piece with a visor and zombie design on the back. 

Riding his R nine T motor bike relaxed him in a different way to music- his music grounded him, healed him, created energy and spent it. Going for a ride, however, was completely different- the intense, pure thrill of speed, dodging through traffic and risking his life for the adrenaline kick was a whole different level of drug.

Today was a little different. He was cruising along Hill Lane, a quiet road with few sudden bends that followed the curve of the hill it ran up and around. The road was empty, silent, until the rising roar of his engines took hold of the early autumn scene and climbed in power, sending him speeding along with the wind tugging at his skin.

The truck seemed to come out of nowhere, but he still managed to swerve- it was coming toward him, big and red and blaring. He leaned low and to his left, swinging the bike around, but as he rode out of the trucks shadow, his leg clipped the tarmac. He threw himself to his right, but to no avail- he felt the balance of the bike go and the heavy screech of metal on road before he blacked out.

\--

He apparently woke up on the way to the hospital, but he didn’t remember much, just a lot of white sheets and worried faces. He remembered waiting to go into the operating theatre, and a pretty doctor sitting beside him and filling out a chart. Frank turned to her.  
“What’s the situation, doc?”  
She sighed. “Your leg got crushed pretty nastily. Your skin was protected by the leather, but its still scratched up pretty badly. There’s muscle damage to your hip and peroneus muscles, and both comminuted and oblique fractures to your femur and tibula respectively.”  
“And in English?”  
“Your leg is fucked.”  
“Ah.” He looked back down at the plain blue sheets obscuring his leg. “How’s my suit?”  
The doctor opened her mouth to reply, but before she could a nurse opened the curtain surrounding his bed.  
“The theatres ready now.”  
She nodded, and hit a button beside his head- he felt a strange pulsing sensation in his hand, and he looked down to see an IV line jutting out like some plastic insect crouched on the back of his hand. Before he could make a sound, he was out like a light.

\--

When he next awoke, the doctor was by his side again, filling out another chart. He was in a quiet, empty ward laid on soft white sheets- his entire left leg was wrapped in a hard white cast. Frank reached out one pale (IV free now, although there was a bandage around his hand) and touched the cast. It was unexpectedly cold.  
“Ah, you’re awake.” The doctor stood up.  
“What’s your name?” Frank blurted out

She looked slightly taken aback, but replied smoothly “Doctor Serrano.”

He nodded and smiled, tapping out a beat on his cast.

She frowned. “Are you feeling okay now? Some people experience nausea and faintness when they wake up, especially after a long operation.”

“Jeez, do you have to use all these proper words? You’re confusing me.”  
Doctor Serrano laughed, high and quick, like the sound of a brook.

“Yes, since this is my actual job.”  
She made a flourish of her pen on the clipboard, and tucked it under her arm and slipped the pen into her pocket.

“You’re going to be kept in here for a couple more days- your next check up is in four weeks. Take it easy- don’t try and work or walk too much and, obviously, stay off the bike.”

“Oh yeah, where’s my suit? I was wearing this leather suit, and a helmet too.”  
The smile fell from her face.  
“It’s, uh, it’s right here.” She lifted a white plastic bag up off the chair next to Frank’s bed and gently drew out the tattered remains of the outfit.

The entire right side was completely intact, but the left side was ripped and torn- the outer side of the left leg was completely shredded. His helmet was scratched, and a crack splintered to visor.

“Oh.” The small sound fell from his lips and hung in the air, setting the silence.  
Before she could offer any apology, he spoke again;  
“That was the last thing i had of my dad’s, that suit.” His head hung low, long hair obscuring his features. The ward stood still, clinical white glaring out from the walls, accenting the dark brown blood stains and tattered leather in her hands.  
“I have a friend, she’s really good with clothes, she could fix this for you in two weeks, three at tops- she runs a small store/tattoo parlour that makes custom clothing so she’s quite busy but I’m sure she could fit in fixing your suit.”  
Frank snapped his head up and his eyes lit up with a childish hope.  
“Really?”  
“Of course, I’ll give you her number and she’ll call you, I can drop this off on the way home tonight.”  
His eyes crinkled at the edges and his mouth curved into a cat-like grin.  
“Hell, thank you! This means so much to me, thank you so much.”  
“It’s okay, it’s really no problem.”  
She scribbled down the number and address of her friends store, and as an after-thought wrote down her own name and number, but then tore it off.  
“ _Snitches and Stitches_? I’ve heard of that place, a friend of mine got a sleeve done there.” She took in the tattoos on his hands and arms for a moment, then shook her head and turned to walk out the door, picking up her clipboard, pen and the suit as she went.  
“What’s your name, by the way? Your real name?” She turned her head slightly, turning the question over in her mind.  
“Patricia.” She told him, then closed the door behind her and strode down the corridor.

Frank flopped down on the bed, cradling his helmet and scrunching up the slip of paper, repeating the name like a mantra in his mind.

Frank was released from the hospital a week after. The first thing he did when he got home was to call _Snitches and Stitches_ \- he spoke to a receptionist, who told him that yes, a tattered and blood-stained biking suit had been dropped off, and that Sylvie (the owner of the shop) would start working on it tomorrow.  
“What about money?”  
“Already been paid for.” The receptionist drawled. “You can come over and check it out though.”  
“Okay. Is Friday okay?”  
“Thursday would be better, its less busy.” _God, this guy sounds like such an ass_ Frank thought.  
“Yeah, okay. Bye.”  
The man on the other end of the phone popped his gum. “See ya.” Then a click, then silence.

Frank sighed, and carefully rolled and unrolled the tattered slip of paper, sprawled out on the couch with his leg propped up on second-hand cushions. Most of the things in his tiny flat were second hand- he lived by himself, and didn’t earn enough to be able to afford luxuries such as a working oven. He’d had to save up for his bike for seven months- it seemed that the wage you got given went down with the amount of tattoos you got.

He looked at his arms. The colours were beginning to fade, it had to have been a month or two since he last had them touched up. His friend James had given him discounts, but had moved away two weeks ago for a new job. Maybe it was worth checking out the price range at _Snitches_ ; Frank just hoped that twat of a receptionist wasn’t one of the tattooists.

Rain started tapping on his window, reminding him to get up and do some work. He checked the clock hanging beside the window- it was half eight. An early dinner wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he was technically sick so he deserved comfort food.

\--

Patricia signed her name on the register, then slung her satchel over her shoulder. It’d been a long day, and she was looking forward to a long, hot bath. It was a short walk home from the hospital, but it had started raining just before she left and she’d forgotten her umbrella. She hurried home, dodging the spray from rapidly passing cars as best she could, but still ended up getting soaked to the bone. As soon as she got her jacket and boots off, she ran upstairs to start the bath running- then get changed into her pajamas, re-boil some soup, make toast, feed her cat- all the normal things.  
  
She lived in a fairly small house, but it was comfortable. A single bedroom affair, warmly decorated with- probably her favourite feature- a real fireplace. It was a bitch when the chimney got blocked and filled the room with smoke, or when the wood got damp and wouldn’t light, but she loved it.

After her bath, and a bowl of tomato soup, she curled up on the couch to watch T.V. Solomon, her Bengal cat, draped himself over her feet and gently nuzzled her hand. She stroked his head idly with one hand, using the other to put a pre-recorded episode of American Horror Story on. Five minutes in, the phone rang. She paused the T.V.

“Hello?”  
“Hi Trish, it’s Sylvie, I’ve got this biker suit in front of me and... well, I don’t know if I can fix this.”  
Patricia sighed - she’d been half expecting this response.  
“I mean, what the hell happened to it?”  
“It’s one of my patients, he got an accident.”  
“Some accident.” Came the muttered response- Patricia could see Sylvie standing infront of her large work desk, the suit stretched out infront of her and black and gold vintage sewing machine pushed to the side.  
“Is there nothing you can do?”  
She heard Sylvie’s sigh in a crackle of static.  
“I’ve washed it- _yes_ I was careful, I did read the note you left- and I got all of the blood out. I just don’t even know how the hell I should approach this. I’m tempted the just cut off the whole left leg, maybe the arm too, and re-create them, but then they could end up looking really weird since this leather is so beautifully weathered. Also I’d need him to come round for measuring... oh, hold up Pete’s trying to talk to me.”  
Patricia sighed and tipped her head back against the back of the couch, listening to the two others talk in muffled tones.  
“This Frank guy was just on the phone to Pete, asking about the suit. Apparently he has a hot voice and is coming round on Thursday to talk to us about it.”  
“Tell Pete I’m gonna tell Patrick he’s cheating on him with a tattooed biker dude.”  
She heard Pete’s yell of triumph; “I knew he had tattoos!” and laughed to herself, smoothing over the tufts of black fur on Solomon’s ears.  
“Do you wanna come round too? I’ve got tea and things, and some spare material that you’ll like.”  
“Won’t you be busy?”  
“No, Thursdays are always quiet, I don’t know why.” Her tone was conversational, but Patricia knew that she was missing her- they hadn’t had a proper chat in a while, they were always busy in their separate lives.  
“Sylvie, I know we need to catch up but I can’t just take time out from my job like that.” Before Sylvie could reply, she added; “But, I could take Sunday morning off?”  
“Okay. Okay, come round at eleven. I have cake.” Patricia could practically hear her friend’s grin.  
“Cool. I’ll see you then.”  
“Brilliant. Bye!” The phone clicked, and was silent. She smiled to herself and hit play, settling back down to finish watching the show.

\--

On Thursday morning, Frank realised that he didn’t actually know how the hell he was going to get to _Snitches and Stitches_. It was three blocks away, which would normally be walking distance, but on crutches it’d take him an hour. He decided to call a cab- he didn’t trust any of his work friends, they annoyed him anyway.

When the cab pulled up outside the store, there was a light rain pattering the pavement and making the air sparkle, like the whole city had thrown buckets of glitter out of their windows. Frank struggled for five minutes trying to shuffle out the car without falling on his butt and making an idiot of himself, while the cabby drummed his fingers on the wheel and looked thoroughly bored.

Eventually, he was hopping awkwardly toward the door and trying to figure out how he would get in. When he looked through one of the windows, he saw a tanned receptionist with a buzz-cut and spidery looking tattoos on his bare arms chatting to a ginger kid with what looked like skin far too clear of colour to be in a tattoo parlour. This fairer guy spotted Frank outside the door and hurried to open it. He looked at Frank’s leg, then at Frank’s hands gripping his crutches.

“You must be Frank. I’m Patrick, I help Sylvie out with some of the sewing pieces.” He shook hands with him, and Frank mentally congratulated himself for not toppling over.

He hopped inside and looked at the framed portraits of some tattoos on the wall- lots of wispy, flowery, feathery designs, but with some gorier, highly detailed pieces here and there.

Frank turned around to see the receptionist and Patrick whispering, but stopped when they saw him looking.

“Where should I go to see...” His voice petered out, unsure of how to address Sylvie.

The receptionist looked up from picking at black nails, but before he could reply Patrick butted in

“I’ll show you, it’s just out the back.”

“You don’t even work here!”

“Well for all the work you do Pete you may as well quit.”

The receptionist- Pete- seemed to concede defeat at that point, and Patrick gestured Frank to follow him round the corner.

“Is he always such an asshole?”

Patrick laughed. “Yeah, try living with him 24/7.”

He pushed open a clean white door, and showed Frank in.

This room was at the back of the building, so sunlight filtered in through a small grimy window near the ceiling. The floor was bare wood with a thick circular carpet in the middle of the room, and against the left wall was an enormous desk. It was dark wood, with a flowery sheet of material draped over it. A black and gold old-looking sewing machine sat in the center, surrounded by pincushions and piles of fabric and spools of thread. Hunched over it was a woman with dark purple hair tied up with a spotted red bandana, dressed in a white blouse and black jeans with a faint brocade pattern. When she heard the door open, she stood and turned, smiling as she did.

“Thanks for bringing him through Patrick. Can you put the kettle on?”

He nodded and left, leaving them alone together.

“You must be Frank?”

“Yeah, hi.”

They shook hands.

“I’ll just get your suit, one moment.”

Sylvie walked over to a looming black wardrobe and pulled open the doors, carefully taking out a hanger draped in thin white fabric. She dragged a white circular box into the center of the room and stood on it, hooking the hanger onto a rail fixed to the ceiling. When she pulled off the fabric, he could see the full extent of the damage.

“I cleaned it as best I could, it was pretty covered in blood and dirt when I got it. Before I did anything too drastic with it, I just thought you should see it.”

Frank hobbled closer, carefully putting his crutches on the floor. He held the ragged leather between his fingers, gently, as though it were a bird with a broken wing.

“It’s a beautiful suit.”

He turned to look at her standing beside him.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Now” she moved to his left and gently took the fabric out of his hands. “This leg is really fucked. The only way I can see this being salvaged it to cut it off here” She pulled a stick of pale waxy chalk out of her back pocket and sketched a diagonal line from the crotch to just below where his ribs would be if her were wearing it.

“This arm” She held out the left arm. “Could have some kind of patch stitched in, and that would give a kind of rugged, worn effect. Or, I could un-pick it along this seam” She ran a sharp red nail along the line running over the shoulder and then under the arm.

“The arm is going to look fine, whichever way we decide I should repair it. The leg, however is going to be a little trickier. If I do cut along that first line, there’s going to be a funny-looking seam there. I should really take out this whole left side” She turned to him.

“Well” Frank started. “I know fuck all about sewing, so you do what you need to do so I can use it again.”

Sylvie grinned and laughed, nodding.

“Okay. I’m gonna need to take some measurements though.”

Before Frank could reply, Pete stuck his head round the door.

“How do you take your tea? Patrick’s too shy to just ask you.”

“Probably didn’t want to be so rude and interrupt me in the middle of a meeting with a client.” Sylvie glared at Pete until he looked down.

“Sorry.”

“Thank you, Pete. Frank, how do you take your tea?”

“Uh, I don’t really drink tea, do you have any coffee?”

“Yeah we have some instant coffee.”

“Okay, black with two sugars please.”

Pete nodded. “And the usual for you Sylvie?”

“Yes please.”

He nodded and ducked out of the room.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

She turned around and opened a draw of the desk, pulling out a length of measuring tape and a notepad. Frank stood dumbly and watched her.

“Come on then, take off your jacket.”

“Oh right, yeah.” He slid it off and put it next to his crutches on the floor while Sylvie carefully moved his suit to her desk.

“Stand on the box, this won’t take a minute.”

He stood quietly, moving when and where she told him to. Her pencil scratched on the paper, taking note.

“Some nice sleeves you got there.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” He look at his brightly coloured arms. “They need touching up, but my friend who used to do that moved away.”

“I could do it for you.” She stood from her crouched position and looked up at him; although not by much, he was weirdly short.

“Really? Thank you.”

“No problem.” She held on end on the tape under his arm and stretched out the tape, taking the measurement  at the inside of his wrist.

“How much is the suit going to cost?”

“Trish is paying for it, she told me that if you asked to say ‘Don’t worry about it, I’m a doctor so I have enough to pay for it’”

“Trish? Oh, oh right yes. Patricia.” He nodded to himself a little. “I can’t let her pay for all of it thought, she’s done enough.”

“She did her job, Frank.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t have to bring the suit to you. Or pay for it.”

“Well, can you actually afford it?”

“How much would it cost?”

“Right now? About $150 dollars, not including specialist dyes for the leather and weather proofing the leather.”

Frank whistled low through his teeth as Sylvie moved away to stow away the measuring tape and tack the set of notes to her desk.

A knock came from the door, and Sylvie opened it.

“Ah, Patrick, thank you.”

Patrick backed into the room carrying a tray of mugs of varying sizes and two thin slices of cake.

“The cakes a little stale, sorry about that.”

He carefully set the tray down on her desk. Frank moved over picked up a tall, slightly battered mug of coffee.

“Thanks.” He smiled at Patrick, who then left. As he opened and closed the door, Frank glimpsed Pete leaning against the wall.

“I told you he had tattoos!” Came the loud whisper, followed by hurried shushing and footsteps hurrying away

Sylvie chuckled to herself, leaning back against her desk with a squat, daintily decorated cup of fruity-smelling tea.

“They’re like a pair of teenage girls.”

“What’s the deal with those two, are they dating?”

“Yeah, a year and a half. They’re been best friends for ages though, longer than even me and Trish.”

Seeing Frank’s surprise, she nodded, smiling.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends since high school. I always wanted to go into tattooing and art, and she enjoyed her art, but then she ended up being a doctor. I was sad, at first- me and her and our other friend were going to open a place like this together. We still keep in touch though; it was the five of us in high school, us against the world.”

“What changed her mind?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. She loves her work though, she’s happy. What do you do?”

“I work in Walmart, stock work mostly. I used to be in a band, but I had to leave because we weren’t going anywhere and I was too low on cash. I still do music though, just not with others.”

They chatted like that for a while, and looked at some leather samples. Eventually, Frank left for home, hobbling out the door to hail a taxi.

When he arrived home, he flopped down on the couch in his tiny, silent apartment, and stared at the ceiling. It seemed much more empty than usual; he missed having friends, talking to people, even if it was only little things. He was practically estranged from his family since his father had passed away when he was 19. He had been riding his bike with Frank when the front wheel of his bike had snapped off without warning. When Frank continued to ride his motorbike, even showed up to the funeral on it (how his dad would’ve laughed at that), his family started to ignore him.

So he moved away, to a new city, to a new start. And now, with his only friend here gone, he realised the full extent of his solitude.

\--

“So”

Sylvie set down cake and a mug of chamomile tea in front of Patricia, then sat down on the chair opposite her. They were sat in the flat above _Snitches and Stitches_ , in Sylvies living room. The radio played quietly in one corner of the room, sat on a high coffee table between a lamp and a picture frame.

“This Frank guy, huh?”

Patricia took a sip of tea, and set it down carefully on a coaster. “What about him?”

“He’s pretty cute.”

She chuckled and smiled warmly at Sylvie’s mischievous grin.

“I suppose. I mean, in the right light, I guess. He looked pretty sick when I last saw him.”

“You totally like him. Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not denying it! I’m paying for this damn suit of his.”

Sylvie laughed then, taking a bite of her cake.

“How have you been? Other than saving the lives of punk as fuck motor cyclists, that is.”

“I’ve been doing okay. Better, definitely better.” Patricia smiled reassuringly. “Been missing the gang though.”

She nodded in agreement. “I invited Pete and Patrick over, so we can have a proper chat.”

“How about you? How have you been?”

Before Sylvie could answer, there was a knock at the door. She got up to answer it, wrapping her dressing gown around her to hide her pajamas.

“Oh, hi Pete! Hello Patrick!”

They entered the warm apartment and greeted Patricia, then settled down on the tiny, sagging couch against the wall. Pete immediately swung his legs up to rest over Patrick’s, who just leant across them to pick up the pot of tea and pour himself a cup.

“I’ll get some more coffee for you Pete.” Sylvie stood and padded through the cramped house to the kitchen.

Patricia remembered how awkward they used to be, and how obvious and cliché it all was, and grinned to herself.

“What’re you so happy about?” She looked at Pete.

“So I’m not allowed to smile anymore, am I?”

They laughed, and Sylvie bought in two more mugs of coffee, then curled up in her chair. It was a scratchy, high-backed arm-chair, that the spread a soft blanket across. Patricia occupied a chair that matched the tiny couch - leather, worn and sagging.

The conversation flowed just like it always did between old friends. They took turns putting records and CDs on, and talking about themselves or each other. To Patricia, it felt like they covered every topic under the sun.

As the sun was going down, she decided that she “Should really be getting going, it’s going to be dark before we know it.” Pete and Patrick agreed, and they left the muggy warmth of Sylvie’s flat and into the cold autumn air.

\--

Monday morning, Patricia didn’t want to get up. Specifically, she didn’t want to go to work, which was strange in itself. She just wanted to go round to Sylvie’s – she didn’t really fancy sitting in her office all day.

However, she didn’t really have a choice, so she went in anyway.

\--

The first patient of the day had a minor lung infection, for which she gave a course of anti-biotics. The second patient was Frank.

He walked through the door and saw Doctor Serrano hunched over her computer, tapping away. She turned around and stood with a smile, before realising who it was and promptly sitting back down. Frank just grinned at her.

“Hi” They said it at the same time, then Frank looked down at his cast.

“I think it might be infected. It itches a lot, sometimes painfully, and I get, uh, aches around my knee.”

“Well” She stood up and smiled brightly at him. “Let’s take a look.”

She led him out into the corridor and into the main part of the hospital, then into a small side room off a wide corridor.

“Lie down.” She commanded, pointing to one of those slightly intimidating metal beds you always find in hospitals, over which loomed a more intimidating piece of machinery.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to torture you.” He smiled and nodded at her, then lay down.

She walked over and rested a hand on the machine.

“I’m going to use this laser to remove the cast on your leg, it’s only a week until it needs checking anyway. The aching around your knee is probably you putting too much strain on it.” She raised her eyebrow at him, and he smiled, embarrassed.

“Yeah, I had to get measured for the suit... Thank you so much for paying for this for me, you really didn’t have to-”

“It’s fine, the money wasn’t going to be spent on anything better. Now, you just relax and keep as still as possible and I’ll get this cast off.”

There was a strange silence after that, save for the faint hum of the laser cutting through the plaster and bandages. He didn’t look, but felt the cool air touching the pale skin of his leg. Then, gentle hands moving his leg, checking for signs of infection.

She started at his ankle, moving over his leg. He cracked his eyes open a fraction to see the intense concentration on her face, scanning the skin. Frank smashed his eyes shut again.

The probing hands moved over his knee, and up his thigh, and to the inside of his thigh. He drew in his breath sharply. The hands were snatched away.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

He opened his eyes again to meet her brown ones.

“Only a tiny bit, it’s okay.”

She smiled weakly and moved back down to his knee. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.

\--

“Okay, now we just wait for the plaster to set.”

“How long will that take?”

“20 minutes, give or take.”

He propped himself up on his elbows to look at her sitting at the computer in the corner.

“Can I get a diagnosis, Doctor?”

She turned and steepled her fingers, resting her chin on them.

“Your leg is clean of infection, it’s just the strain. How much movement of your leg have you been doing this past week?”

“Well” He remembered the drive to _Snitches_ , and walking there on Sunday only to find it closed, and then walking back home.

“I haven’t really left the house, I order food. I went to _Snitches_ on Thursday, but that’s it.”

“And you live by yourself.”

He swallowed. “Yep. Just me, myself and I.” A thin grin slipped onto his face.

“Okay.” She typed the information into the database. An awkward silence fell.

“So” She started. “How did you find Sylvie?”

“She’s really nice, she said she’d touch up my sleeves for me. Her receptionist is an asshole though.”

Patricia grinned. “Yeah, when you get to know him he’s not so bad. Was Patrick there when you went?”

“Yeah, he was more of a receptionist than Pete. He brought us tea and coffee. I feel like I’m a bit of a spectacle to them, they’re like a pair of school girls.”

“Did Sylvie say that?”

Frank smiled “Yeah, she did.”

They talked for the remainder of the time, and Frank found himself opening up to Patricia. Not completely, not about how he was feeling, but after not really talking to anyone it felt like he was cutting out a part of himself and laying it on the cold metal hospital bed beside him.

She ended up sitting next to him, one leg tucked under her, listening to him.

“Sorry, I’m talking too much, I always end up rambling-”

“It’s okay.” She said softly, reaching out to trace the spider-web on his hand

“Why does it say ‘hopeless’?”

He held up the other hand in answer, holding them together.

“’Hopeless romantic’.” She read.

“That is so corny.”

He laughed, tipping his head back, then looking down at her long-fingered hands on his. He moved one hand to her chin, her cheek. She looked up at him, and he leant forward, then she closed the distance, bringing their lips together.

It was chaste and shy, soft like downy feathers. She pulled back after a moment and found his hands holding hers. Something was digging into them, and when she opened them she found a slip of paper with his number scribbled on it, with his name beneath.

“Why did you write your name? I know your name.”

“Well, you must get loads of people throwing their numbers at you, you’re so pretty.”

She blushed, and felt his hand touch her cheek again, gently.

“No, not really.”

“I think my cast is dry now.”

Patricia suddenly seemed to remember where she was, and stood up abruptly. Her face changed, becoming cold and professional.

“I can’t do this, Frank. I can’t date a patient.”

His shoulders sagged.

“Why?”

“I just can’t. It’s-”

“It’s okay. No one has to know, it wouldn’t change anything, I promise. Please.”

She looked at him, meeting his eyes. He swung his leg off the bed and picked up his crutches so he could stand in front of her.

“Don’t pull those puppy-dog eyes on me.”

Doctor Serrano crossed her arms and turned away a little, before turning back to see his ridiculous pout and mournfully wide eyes. She broke, and grinned at him, laughing.

“You’re hopeless.”

He waggled his hands in her face. “Hopeless _romantic_!”

That got another laugh, and Frank decided that all he really wanted to do was make her laugh all day.

“Get going, you’re wasting my time.” It was said with a smile, and he ducked out of the room, flashing her one last grin as he went. Patricia sat on the metal bed and looked at the numbers scrawled on the paper, smiling to herself.

\--

When Frank got home, he sat down on the couch and grinned to himself. He turned on the T.V, and scrolled through his recorded shows until he reached the last episode of American Horror Story. Halfway through, his phone rang.

"You didn't think your leg was infected at all, did you? You just wanted to waltz in and-"

"Hello to you too." He held back laughter.

"You're not even denying it! I cannot believe you, really."

"Hey, I did think it was infected! Or at least I thought there was something wrong with it! Anyway, I couldn't have known I'd see you."

He could hear her laughing on the other end of the line, when another call came in.

"One moment, someone else is calling me."

He put her on hold, and answered the other call.

"Hi Frank, it's Sylvie, I've got some leather in and I'm dying it now, so if you could come round tomorrow and take a look? Or whatever day suits you."

"No tomorrow is fine." He smiled.

"Okay. See you around two?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, see you then."

"Bye!"

He heard the click of Sylvie hanging up, and took Patricia off hold.

"Who was that?"

"Sylvie, asking if I wanted to go and look at some leather samples tomorrow." He took a deep breath to steel himself, to ask the next question.

"Do you want to come too? Sylvie won't mind."

He heard her static-filled sigh.

"I guess I could try and get the afternoon off-"

"Great! See you then!" He made kissing noises down the line, and heard her laughter echo back.

"Bye."

He tossed his phone on the tiny coffee table next to his plaster-coated foot and sat back against the couch, sinking into it. He couldn't stop smiling to himself as he unpaused the T.V and hugged one of the old, tattered pillows on his couch to his chest.

 --

“Hey.” Patricia whispered, nudging his rib. He grinned at her

“Hey yourself.”

They were sat in the corner of the tattoo parlour, waiting for Sylvie to be finished with this particular piece.

The recipient of the tattoo was a burly, thick set man with long greying hair. His worn leather jacket was strewn over the back of the chair, and the room was almost silent, save for the buzzing of the needle and Patrick and Pete whispering behind the desk.

“All done!” Sylvie sat back from where she had been crouched over his upper arm and switched off the tattoo gun, laying it carefully on the glossy black sideboard in front of the customer.

He grumbled his thanks and paid, leaving on a truly enormous, roaring motorbike.

“Right.” Sylvie peeled off her latex disposable gloves and tossed them into the bin.

“Let’s look at these leathers.”

Frank and Patricia followed Sylvie to her to the back room. When they opened the door, the scent of heavy-duty leather dye hung strongly in the air. Sylvie didn’t seem fazed by it, and just walked over to a metal rack where some scraps of leather were hanging.

Patricia leant against her friend’s desk, and watched the other two talking about leathers and holding up different samples.

She definitely had a crush on Frank, that much was true. He was funny, he could be sweet, and she was certain he had good music taste- this was confirmed when he went through Sylvie’s record collection and selected _‘Room On Fire’_ by The Strokes.

She just didn’t know if she should be doing this. It probably went against a lot of rules about the relationships doctors could have with a patient.

As she was watching the pair of them, lost in her thoughts, she realised she was staring at Frank’s ass. She looked away before he could realise, but she was too slow; he turned around and flashed her grin and a wink, before turning back to the leathers.

\--

When Frank and Patricia passed past the reception desk to leave, Patricia stopped and turned to Frank, trying to hold back giggles.

Patrick had Pete pressed against the wall, and they could clearly hear their stifled moans. Frank pushed past Patricia and limped boldly past her.

“Hey boys!”

The two of them sprang apart, Patrick blushing all the way down his neck. Before they could react, Frank grabbed her hand and limped as fast as he could manage out of the store. They managed to get 20 metres down the street before Frank leant against the wall, gasping for breath with a huge grin plastered on his face.

“You idiot.” Patricia said, weakly punching his arm. “You’re so bad!”

“It was hilarious though.” He looked up at her, pushing himself away from the wall. His hair was a mess, and his hazel eyes were bright with laughter. Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him, harder and more passionate than their first.

When she broke away, she tucked his hair behind his ear, hand curling around his jaw. “Let’s go home.” She murmured.

He nodded quickly, letting her lead him to her car.

\--

When they got inside, Patricia locked the door behind her and they fell down on the couch, hands everywhere, lips crashing together. As deepened the kiss, he moved his hand gently up her thigh.

She swung her leg over Frank's hips in response, touching his shoulders, his hair, twisting his soft cotton shirt in her fists.

His hands flowed through her long dark hair like water, then crept down her spine, and then round her thigh.

"Frank." She pulled away and rested her forehead against his, smoothing circles on his collar bone. "We can't, your leg-"

"As soon as my leg is out of this cast-"

"I know, I know." Patricia carded her hands through his hair, tentatively sitting in his lap.

He moaned softly, the sound slipping between his lips, when her leg brushed against his hard dick. She moved away like she'd been burned, but he held onto her wrist.

"It'd be too much strain on your leg, I can't."

"But-"

"Frank, I am a doctor, I know about these things."

He sighed, and she moved off the couch.

"I'm going to make us some pasta, it’s getting late."

“Does that mean I’m staying the night?” Frank called after her.

“No.” She grinned to herself as she sorted through the pantry, looking for the pasta.

She heard the T.V come on, and then the opening of American Horror Story. Patricia dashed into the lounge.

“Hey, you like this show?”

He twisted to look at her face. “Who doesn’t?”

She smiled and left again, boiling water and tipping ready-made sauce into a pan. She could hear him moving around her living room, cast thumping against the floor. The opening chords of _Tap Out_ blared through the apartment, and she swayed her hips to the beat.

When the pasta was cooked, she poured it onto two plates and tipped the sauce onto each of them, carrying them through to the lounge.

Frank was sat in her corner of the couch, cast resting on the table, Solomon curled by his side.

“I see you met Solomon.” She said, grabbing a cushion from the sofa and putting it on her crossed legs to balance her plate on.

“I don’t even like cats, dogs are so much better.” He replied, scratching between Solomon’s ears.

“Tough. Eat your dinner.” He smiled at her and sat up awkwardly, placing a cushion on her lap like she did and placing his plate on top of that. She paused the stereo with one remote and started American Horror Story- Patricia had already seen this episode, but she found that she didn’t mind. 

\--

The weeks seemed to drag by to Frank.  Of course, he had a lot more to do now- he could go to see Sylvie or Patrick or Pete or Patricia, he was at no shortage of things to do. It was just his stupid leg now.

It felt like some kind of punishment for being so happy. Like a chain and ball he dragged it around behind him, restricting him and holding him back. He had three weeks to go until it was cut down to just below his knee, and then he would start physiotherapy. But however much he reassured himself with this fact, it still seemed like it was never really leaving. Like every time he and Patricia were at her place, helping her fill out some documents or having dinner or watching T.V, it was there like an anchor. Going to _Snitches,_ dragging it along the pavement behind him.

The suit was finished now, but he wouldn’t know if it fit until his cast was completely off. It was still beautiful though, as though it were brand new again. His helmet had been repainted, and the whole piece sat on his bed, gathering dust.

He didn’t spend much time in that cramped apartment anymore, it stank of sadness. Frank much preferred Patricia’s house, or Sylvie’s flat, or _Snitches_ \- anywhere was better than this house.

\--

The afternoon soon rolled around, and Frank was on his way to the hospital in the back of a tobacco-scented cab. He felt full of butterflies right to the top of his skull. He could not wait to get this dead weight off of his leg, even if it was only half.

Before he knew it, he was lying on another cold metal hospital bed, and a different doctor was looming over him.

He examined Frank’s leg, and then decided to do an x-ray of it. Frank stared at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on the cold cast.

“Well, Frank” The doctor had a deep, southern voice and sun-tanned skin, with silver hair swept back in a ponytail.

“Your leg has healed nicely, very nicely indeed. If you feel ready, we could even take the whole cast off today. Of course, we’d need to change your physiotherapy schedule slightly, but we’ll discuss details and after care later. Do you want it all removed now?”

Frank blinked a couple of times. “Yes. Yes, okay.”

The doctor smiled and moved a wheeled table closer to him, picking up a large blunt saw.

“Wait, I thought we used a laser?”

“For casts that haven’t been on for very long we can do that, but your cast has been on for over 2 months, so a saw is necessary. It won’t hurt, but it may tickle a bit.”

He laid his head back on the towel and closed his eyes, listening to the loud thunder roll of the saw cutting through the layers of plaster.

It seemed to take an age, but eventually it was off. Frank looked at his leg, but immediately looked away again. It didn’t seem to belong to him.

The muscles had shrunk, and the skin was dray, pale and peeling. Scabs peeled off when the cast fell away, but other, larger ones remained.

“Now, after care. Wear very soft, loose clothing that won’t further irritate the skin, and rest it well. Don’t try to walk too much, it’ll be very difficult as all of the muscles in your leg have not been used for so long. Bathe for 20-30 minutes in warm water every day, and wash with mild soap. Although it will be tempting, do not pick or scratch- the skin will be very sensitive.”

Frank nodded, staring at his leg.

“I’ll email you your new physiotherapy schedule, but for now you are good to go! You’ll still need crutches for a while until you are safe to walk again. Honestly, it’s a small miracle that you’re getting almost complete use of your leg back. You’re a very lucky man, Iero.”

He winced at the use of his last name, reminded of Catholic school. He pulled on his stretched and shapeless sweat pants and picked up his crutches, lifting his leg carefully off the bed. He could move it a little, but there was a dull ache lingering in his joints.

“Thank you.” He nodded at the doctor and left the room, limping down the corridor.

\--

He hailed a cab and, without thinking, gave directions for Patricia’s house. He sat in the back of the cab and tried swivelling his ankle, which hurt. Then his knee, which hurt more. Then his hip, which just induced a more intense ache. It was Patricia’s day off so he hoped she would be home.

He limped up to the door and knocked, waiting for her to open it. When she did, she was wearing an apron and carrying a whisk, long hair in a lazy bun, glasses perched on her nose.

“Hey Frank! How did it go?”

“It, uh, went fine I guess...” he lifted the leg of his sweat pants and, with considerable difficulty, waggled his leg.

“Ta da!” It came out weaker and thinner than intended, but she still grinned at him, then threw her arms around him.

“I’m very proud of you.” Her breath tickled his ear, and her thin, warm frame clung to him.

“Come inside, I’m baking so you can sit on the couch if you like.”

Frank limped through behind her, closing the door with one of his crutches, a habit he had developed. Solomon rubbed his head against Frank’s knee, and followed him to the couch when he sat down.

“It smells good.” Frank called through to the kitchen over the sound of the radio.

“Yeah, I woke up and just had this urge to bake something, y’know?”

Frank couldn’t say he had ever had the urge to bake the minute he woke up, and told her, getting a sharp snap of laughter in return. He smiled to himself and petted Solomon, before standing up and hobbling to the kitchen.

Tricia was swaying her hips to the song, stirring the cake mix and nodding her head. She looked up at Frank and blushed a little.

“Can I use your bath? My leg is kinda gross.”

“Yeah sure! Go for it.”

“Okay, thanks.” He walked awkwardly up the steps, using his hands to help his weak leg.

He ran a hot bath, raiding the cupboards for bath bombs. The bathroom ended up filled with rose scented steam, and he stripped off as quickly as his leg would allow. He lowered himself carefully into the bath and sighed, closing his eyes. It’d been so long since he had had a proper bath- only quick showers with his broken leg outside the curtain, or wrapped in clingfilm. The heat untangled the knots in his muscles and washed over him in waves. His cold fingers warmed, and his skinny, pale leg.

When he opened his eyes, Patricia was sat on the step leading into the bathroom, glasses fogged up and hanging on her loose shirt. He spun on his side to hide himself from her, water sloshing over the side.

“What the-”

“Frank it’s okay, I’m a doctor, I see naked people all the time. Perks of the job.”

He sat up, still with his back to her, but twisted his head round to look at her. She crawled closer until she was sat on the mat beside the bath, cross-legged, leaning on the side of the tub. She flicked water at his back.

“Hey”

“Hey yourself.” He turned around a little more to face her, still covering himself.

“I thought you might want a little help with that leg of yours, it’s a little broken.”

“I’m fine.” He sighed and turned back, water sloshing over the side again.

“What’s up Frank?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to let me help you out?”

He looked back at her wide brown eyes looking up at him, and lifted his leg onto the plastic board which stretched across the bath. She giggled at the frown on his face, and kissed his cheek before picking up a washcloth.

“It’s okay.” She said quietly, and started to gently wash his leg.

It stung a little over the scabs, and felt very strange after months of no contact on his leg at all, but her hands were gentle and soft over the peeling skin.

When she was finished, she helped him out the bath and looked away whilst he dried himself, then handed him a bottle of moisturiser.

“It’s for sensitive skin, but if it stings don’t use it.”

He applied it gently to his leg and pulled on his boxers, then reached for his sweatpants. She helped him pull them on, hands lingering on his hips, and up his sides, and over his arms. He lost his balance and fell onto Patricia a little, but she helped him stand back up.

He kissed her, softly, moving his hand to the back of her neck.

“Thank you.” He murmured, drawing little circles on the back her neck.

“My pleasure.” She whispered, and kissed his jaw, leaving him to get fully dressed again.

When he came downstairs, Tricia was in her dressing gown on the couch with a slice of cheesecake and Solomon on her shoulder. Frank giggled at the sight and kissed her cheek as he sat down.

“Why is he on your shoulder?”

“He’s been doing it since he was a kitten; I used to walk around the house with him perched by my ear. He’d too big for me to walk with him there now but he still likes to sit on my shoulder a lot.”

“You’re so cute.”

She grinned at him and squeezed his hand, turning back to the T.V

“I love you.” The words spilled out, before he even thought them, like blood on a sun-warmed tarmac.

She turned her head and looked at him, confused for a moment.

“I love you too, dumb ass.”

He sighed in relief, grinning. He kissed her, long and passionate, and her hand moved to his cheek, then through his hair. She smiled against his lips and drew back, placing a kiss on his knuckles.

Frank settled his head on her shoulder and let himself relax against her, completely and utterly content.

\--

Physiotherapy didn’t start for two weeks after, so Frank spent that time at Patricia’s house. At the end of the first week, Frank nervously asked if he could move his stuff to her place. She gave him a funny look again, like the one she’d given him he said he loved her, and said ‘of course’. So he moved his stuff to her house (half of his clothes were there anyway, it was just a few instruments and his computer and some other odds and ends)

On the Wednesday of the second week, Frank went to _Snitches_ and finally got his sleeves touched up. Whilst Sylvie worked the other three sat with coffee, chatting about seemingly everything. When she was finished, she cleaned up the tattoos and wrapped them carefully in cling film.

“Now” Sylvie stood up. “I’m gonna get some more coffee, I’ll be right back.”

Pete snickered and Patrick kicked him under the table.

“What is it?” Frank looked at them and Patricia sat in the corner, half smiling. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on!” He could see right through Patricia’s grin, and raised his eyebrows.

The sound of a door behind him made him turn to see Sylvie backing through the door, a white bag folded over her arm. She handed it to him, and silence fell over the shop save for the crinkle or tissue paper.

It fell to the floor, and Frank lifted up the suit. The leather caught the light, shiny and supple and smooth, as though nothing had ever happened.

Frank threw his arms around Sylvie, whispering ‘thank you’s in her ear. She laughed and patted his shoulder, and he let go like she was made of fire. He grinned and grinned, touching the seams and stitches on the suit, the new zip tag, the cuffs, the legs.

Patricia stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder, smiling. He twisted his head to look up at her.

“I don’t want to wear it yet. When my leg is fully healed I’ll wear it.”

“It’s okay, whatever you are comfortable with baby.” She kissed his forehead and he looked back at the suit, smiling.

\--

When Frank and Patricia got home, she hung the suit from a nail on the back of their door. They looked at it, hanging there, evening sunlight filtering through the window. Frank held Solomon like a baby, and Patricia tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear.

“I think you should get a hair cut.”

“Which one?”

She punched his arm and he snorted, which really did look dumb but her stomach still flipped over.

“I’ll cut it all off.”

“Do it. Use my shaver.”

“Really?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

She studied his face for a moment.

“Get an old towel out of the boiler cupboard and go sit in the kitchen.”

He let Solomon jump out of his arms and took his crutches from where he’d leant them against the wall, then limped down the hall, while Patricia went to the bathroom for the shaver.

\--

She plugged the shaver into the socket just above the sideboard, then draped the towel over his shoulders. He was sat on one of the bar stools, lowered so that she could reach his head.

“Have you ever cut anyone’s hair before?”

“Nope.”

He heard her pick up the scissors, and then when she clicked them together.

“I have a plan.”

“It better work, I don’t want a gammy leg and a shitty hair cut.”

Frank heard the chop, chop, chop of the scissors after that, and saw hair fall to the ground.

“I really don’t think I could go awfully wrong, it’s quite simple.”

“Did you google it?”

“Maybe.”

He grinned to himself and listened to the song on the radio, and the snip of the scissors.

“Okay, now I’m gonna use the shaver.”

“Do you know how to change the settings on it?”

“Yes, Frank, I’m not completely incompetent.”

He tilted his head back and puckered his lips.

“I’ll fight you.”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up.”

He put his head back forward, smiling to himself.

The shavers buzzed against his head, cold and steady.

He counted the minutes.

“Done.”

“Can I see?”

She held the heavy mirror in front of him that she’d taken from the bathroom, and stood back to admire her work. Frank stood up and ran his hand through his hair, and pulled faces at himself in the mirror, catching Patricia’s eye and making her laugh.

“I love it. I love you.”

In response she kissed him, moving her hand through his shorter hair.

“You can’t pull it anymore.” She grinned at him, resting her forehead against his and linking her hands behind his neck.

He kissed her again, and again, and again, moving his hands to her waist and hips.

“Are you sure you’re happy with it?”

“Yes, yes, of course I am, you did it. Even if it was shit I’d still love it.”

He trailed a hand along the waistband of her jeans and under her shirt, kissing her cheekbone.

She moved her hand over his, looking down at their hands on her hip.

“What’s wrong?”

Patricia smiled at him, tracing his jaw.

“Nothing at all.”

She deepened the kiss, taking him by surprise. He followed her lead, letting his hands drift over her back and around the curve of her waist, still shy.

Patricia pulled back suddenly.

“Come with me.”

She took his hand and led him upstairs, limping behind her as fast as he could. Frank could feel his heart beating like a steam train, and his leg felt like lead but he still thumped up the stairs behind Patricia.

Opening the door to their room, she strode over to the wardrobe and pulled out his sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

“We’re going to physiotherapy, the date got moved forward.”

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

She kissed him and smiled sweetly.

“You love it.”

\--

Before they left, Frank had a long shower and maybe jerked off because, well, he did love being teased. Patricia smirked at him when he got in the car, and he pretended to be disgruntled, but held her hand tightly when she touched his knee.

“Sorry.”

The word hung between them, and Frank turned to look at it, then at Patricia.

“What for?”

“For teasing you.”

“Baby, it’s okay. I don’t mind, I swear.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles before she moved her hand back to the wheel. She nodded and stared straight ahead at the road, and he leant forward slightly to brush her hair out of her face.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Frank.”

\--

The physiotherapy ward was quiet, but there were a couple of other people there. A trainer with short blonde hair and bright pink lips helped them set up, and showed them the various exercises to run through.

“Your schedule won’t be as long since you’re not in a wheelchair, but that means you still need to be using your leg as much as you can.” The trainer left with a nod and a smile.

Frank turned to Patricia. “See, even she agrees that I have to use it as much as possible.”

“Lie down, idiot.”

He lay down obediently, and they went through the first exercise. Frank would raise his leg as far as he could, then Patricia would lift it the rest of the way, the hold for 10 seconds.

He could only get his leg about two inches off the ground, but Patricia made him work at it until he could get it to three.

“You’re mean.” He gasped, panting a little.

She kissed his temple. “You’re doing really well. Have a drink.”

He reached for the water bottle.

“Small sips, otherwise you’ll get cramp.”

“Yes, doctor, I know.” He winked at her and she smiled.

The next exercise was similar, but this time Patricia pressed his leg to his chest, and Frank held it for five seconds. The first time, his hands flew up to keep his legs in place, but she moved them away and gently put her hand on his knee instead.

This one was obviously a lot harder than the last, and she went at a slower pace. But she didn’t move on until he could hold it for two seconds without her hand there. She kissed him when it was over, and he gripped her wrist tightly.

When he drank more water, she moved her hand up and down his arm, tracing the lines of tattoos.

“I still expect them to drip when you sweat.” She said, so quiet he almost didn’t hear.

“So did I, at first. The first one ever got was the pumpkin on my back, so I couldn’t even see it.”

She returned his weak grin, and helped him to stand up.

The final exercises for that session were various kinds of lunges, and then they were done for the day. Frank didn’t need Patricia for these, so she sat cross-legged on the floor next to him.

One of these lunges was for Frank to hold on to bars on either side of him, and then raise himself up and down using his bad leg and arms.

However, on his fifth time of doing this, he let go of the bars. He hit the floor with a dull thud.

Patricia scrambled over to help him sit up, and gave him the water. A couple of the other patients looked over, but then turned back to their own exercises.

“Shall we call it a day?” Patricia asked, rubbing his shoulder.

He shook his head and stood, clinging to the bar above his head.

He immediately started the exercise again, push up, go down, push up, go down, push up, go down. His muscles strained and he closed his eyes, breathing too fast.

Patricia put a hand to his chest and unwound his fists from the bars. He staggered against her, and clung tightly to her.

He whispered something against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and helped him to stand straight, holding him there.

“What did you say?”

“I just want to be okay again.” He whispered quietly, not meeting her eyes.

\--

They didn’t say anything on the drive home, and Patricia wordlessly helped him up the stairs. She helped him shower, and helped him dress, and sat him down on the couch with Solomon whilst she made hot chocolate and put their dinner in the oven.

The mug was hot, and he pulled his sweater over his hand to hold it, stroking Solomon’s back with the other. The comforter from the back of the couch was wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.

She giggled at him. “I still can’t believe that you don’t like cats.”

“Solomon is an exception, dogs are still better.”

She held his hand, and they watched American Horror Story until the casserole was ready.

Serving it into bowls, she carried it back through to the living room, and they ate in silence, watching the TV.

Patricia kissed his cheek and took his bowl back to the kitchen when he was finished. She moved Solomon, to his protest, and curled up next to Frank. His legs were tucked up next to him, and Patricia moved them to be around her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and moved the comforter to cover both of them.

Eventually, they fell asleep like that, Solomon leaving to go hunt mice or birds or whatever mysterious errands cat run at night. Patricia dreamed of walking on clouds, and Frank didn’t dream at all.

\--

Their lives fell into a pattern of work (for Patricia), physiotherapy, and going over to _Snitches_. When Patricia was at work, Frank would go to see Sylvie or Pete or Patrick, or go for short walks.

His leg was healing, slowly but noticeably. The scars on his arm were almost completely faded, but the ones on his leg and lower body would take much longer. One day, Patricia got home from work to find Frank taking baby steps, gripping the back of the couch, crutches discarded by the stairs. He looked up at her and grinned, then took his hands off the back of the sofa.

He stood, wobbling slightly, then very still, and took a hesitating step toward Patricia.

She ran forward and threw her arms around him, careful not to topple him over. 

"I'm so proud of you sweetie." Patricia whispered in his ear, holding him tightly.

Another day soon after that, Patricia came home with the groceries, and Frank was singing. She'd come in quietly, and he hadn't heard her, but he was sitting in the chair facing away from the front door with his guitar in his lap, singing a song she'd never heard before. When he leant forward to scribble something out on one of the many sheets of paper scattered over the coffee table, he saw her.

He jumped up, leaning his hand slightly on the chair to steady himself. His guitar fell to the floor.

"How long have you been there?"

"Only a moment, but Frank what I heard is lovely, you're really good."

"It's not even finished, it's still really rough-"

"Frank" She stepped closer to him and held his hands. "I love it, and when you want to show me the rest of it, you know I'll listen."

He smiled tightly, and she kissed his cheeks and his nose and his mouth, over and over.


End file.
